A/N: Thank you for all the reviews!

This story is starting to enter the backstretch now. I hope you enjoy this chapter, because it was very very hard to write. xD

Thanks Tigger101 for the constant compliment, question and critique- you help me correct the things I always tend to miss. Thanks CrazyBitch106, p3karen and Jewely2951 for the unwavering love. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

And so the plot thickens. Enjoy.

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In the car, Jo felt as if she were being hit repeatedly with a mental mallet. Their interrogation was fierce, and perhaps somewhat unfair, as she found herself answering only with a continuous stream of 'I don't know' or 'I can't remember.' By the end her nails were almost piercing the hide of the leather seats with her agitation- Dean was becoming increasingly frustrated with her lack of memory and subconsciously wreaking emotional havoc on Jo's nerves.

"So you are positive- one hundred percent- that it was all the hound's doing?"

"I saw the thing, didn't I?" she snapped back impatiently, but found herself wringing her hands. "Directly, at very least, yes- the dog killed the girl."

Dean was fishing distractedly in his jacket pocket for something, eventually drawing out a wooden charm on a string which he handed to her with a grave face.

"Here. Put it on, never take it off. It's a charm to ward off possession. Bobby gave it to us both in Minn once we got rid of the demon. If it's possession, it won't happen again, at any rate."

"What about you?" asked Jo immediately, though she slipped it over her head and under her shirt.

Dean didn't answer. Instead he turned away, turning the key to start up the Impala's ignition, before silently accelerating onto the road. Jo knew there would be an answer, but clearly Dean wasn't in the sharing mood. Jo eased back onto the seats, shivering from a deep-seated fear, gazing listlessly out the window.

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Morning came quicker than Jo would have liked and she woke up while the world was still dark. She heaved a sigh and lay there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling which had a sort of macabre look about it in the shadows. Even as she watched, the sun rose above the horizon and the room was alight with those vivid pinks and oranges that often came with the rising sun.

Eventually she kicked off her blankets, and paused while on the floor to wriggle into the clothes she had prepared for today, a skirt and a singlet. Then, with perfect balance, she rolled onto her knees and up onto her feet.

She watched the brothers in their beds. They looked so soft, so untainted, while sleeping that it was difficult to comprehend they were the same men she knew.

Sam slept on his side, one arm extended beneath the pillow, one hand on top, legs entangled in the blankets, his breathing steady and calm and his eyes still, blissful and peaceful.

Dean slept like a tiger, on his belly, his back arched somewhat to protect his neck and head. Both hands were underneath the pillow- probably, Jo noted with a sly grin, holding the knife he always carried around. His legs were above the blankets, his breathing short and sharp. He was tense, alert, and if Jo didn't know better, she would have said he wasn't sleeping at all.

She noticed something funny after her close scrutiny- Dean had somehow turned his head sideways during the dark of night and had the pillow clamped in his teeth. He looked remarkably like a sulky, brooding puppy after a bad day.

She suppressed a snort and dug in her pocket for her cellphone, flipping it open to take a photo. The camera light flashed briefly, and Dean immediately jerked awake, tensing and twisting silently to appraise her with glazed, tired eyes.

".. what the fuck are you doing?" he growled, bringing a hand up to block the sunlight obscuring his vision. Jo hastily stowed the phone in her pocket, grinning wickedly.

"Nothing," she replied in a conspiring whisper so not to wake Sam.
"Why are you up so early?" he asked in a hoarse voice, grumbling and turning onto his back, stretching his arms up above him with a yawn.

She shrugged. "Early bird catches the worm?"

Dean didn't reply. Maybe it was too early in the morning for him to process any figures of speech, but after a moment he rolled off the bed and onto his feet, staggering momentarily before he straightened and went to get himself a glass of water.

Sam woke before long, though he was much more aristocratic than Dean and greeted her with a 'good morning' before he sat up in his bed, rubbing his face.

It didn't take long for the day to wear on and they immediately, and wordlessly, set to work on the preparations for tonight. Dean retrieved the Goofer Dust that he and Sam had retrieved from the hunting bar the day before, and Sam was seated on the laptop. Midday.

"What the hell is that crap?" she asked incredulously as Dean began spreading the dust along the windows.

"Goofer Dust," he replied without turning his head.

"Looks like a heap of shit to me."

"Well yeah, but it works," he replied in a businesslike sort of way, moving towards the door to continue the meticulous sealing. "Repels hellhounds, at any rate."

"Hey," said Sam with the higher octave of voice which generally meant he'd found something of use, though it did inadvertently make him sound like an adolescent schoolgirl.

"What?" asked Dean, pausing midway through spreading the dust.

"Hellhounds are creatures born from the misdeeds of hell-bound spirits, prophets and servants to the demons and archdemons of the underworld. Hellhounds are said to be lulled to rest by the sound of the anguish of the captive souls… They are able to surface in order to lay claim to souls promised to a demon. Hellhounds are said to live forever but are not immortal- they can be slain by the hand of the demon from whom they have been sent, and are forced to retreat to hell when they come into contact with platinum-wrought sterling."

"Sterling? Sterling silver?" said Dean, now standing bolt upright by the door.

"I think so," said Sam with a shrug, though couldn't help to patronisingly add "…Unless they're talking about the author…"

"But seeing as we don't have a Mr. Bruce Sterling handy to hurl at the bitch, I'm going to assume they are talking about the silver. Are there any gun stores around here?" asked Dean.

Sam shut his laptop and got up from his bed, scratching his head, thoughtful.

"I guess there's bound to be. If not, I'll head on down to Diamondview."

"Hurry up, the last one came ahead of schedule, there's no saying this one won't too. Take care of the car, Sammy."

Sam didn't answer. Jo supposed it was sort of unwritten law among the brothers. Jo knew Sam would guard the Impala with his heart and soul- it wasn't worth facing Dean's fury if any harm should come to it.

It was only when Sam left the room that they both seemed to realise they'd been left alone together for the first time since that fateful evening at the Fawcett apartment. Jo could still recall the feeling of the Jericho cocked at her temple and his fingers at her throat.

"Awkward," said Jo finally in a sing-song sort of voice. Dean fixed her with that discerning, vaguely superior stare of his and leant against the door frame, the Goofer dust lying forgotten by his feet.

"You've come a long way since the Holmes job," he said finally, an effort at breaking the silence. Jo nodded.

"Thankyou."

"Aren't you going to say 'you have, too?'"

Jo shrugged. "We both know you couldn't improve yourself if you tried, Dean," she replied dryly, in jest. Dean chuckled and briefly quirked both brows.

"Yeah, that's true…" he mused, staring off into space.

Jo grinned for the moment and they were once again left with the awkward silence that made Jo's hand twisted around the bedpost with sudden nervousness.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" she said finally, eyes darting back and forth across his face.

"Didn't give me much of a chance there, but… sure. Shoot."

"Why didn't you ever call me?"

Dean paused and Jo knew he was probably regretting his decision to let her speak her mind. She was a little surprised that she'd posed that question and the nerves quickly doused that momentary surge of courage. She found her eyes darting to his feet.

"Honestly?"

She didn't reply. That went without saying.

"I never planned to. It was just another way to say goodbye, I guess. Silence is deafening sometimes, you know…"

"Damnit, Dean!"

"I know." Dean looked chastened, even remorseful, stepping forward towards her. Jo stepped forward too, anger beginning to spread like wildfire through her soul. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Has there ever been a time in your life when you've said that and meant it?"

"Jo…"

"Cut the crap, Dean! I was worried about you! You were dead, for all I knew!"

"Alright! Just calm-"

"Don't say it! Idiocy and insensitivity clearly runs in your bloodlines!"

Dean looked about ready to continue his remission, but those words stopped him in his tracks. His brows furrowed.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"You wouldn't give a damn if I told you," she snarled softly, striding purposefully towards the door. She didn't know where she was going- but she needed to get away from him. He was infuriating.

"Jo!" he barked, startling her momentarily, attempting to block the way to the door. She stepped around him.

"You can't just walk away!"

She felt those vicelike fingers close around her forearm and jerk her backwards. Left without a choice, she turned to face him, chest rising and falling, those intense green eyes searching hers, as if they were riffling through her soul like an open book.

Despite the rage coursing through her veins she was still vividly aware of the warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his breathing, and his closeness. She put forward her other hand to push him away, pressing at his chest- but his grip was far too steady, and she had only served to increase the body contact between them. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed, staring acidly up at him, the silence lengthening, becoming more poignant with every second.

He looked so adamant, so determined and demanding, never looking away. He was like a lion poised for the kill and she knew he wouldn't let her leave until she answered him. It was a battle of will and Jo knew that in the long run she could never win.

So she did the only rational, logical thing.

She closed the distance between them with a brisk step, reached up to his head, pulled him downwards and kissed him.

The cliché manner of the kiss seemed to momentarily surprise him and for a moment Dean didn't respond- for a few terrifying seconds she thought that he would rebuff her. But then she could feel him smirking arrogantly into her lips, and he obligingly met the kiss with a ferociousness of his own.

He was so close, she could feel the heat emanating from him like a radiator. Her heart beat a million miles as he started shepherding her backwards.

Eventually her back hit the wall and Dean's hand slid down to her waist, pulling her singlet up. They broke apart for a moment as he lifted it over her head again and was back again, fiery and passionate, the fury they'd been expressing not long before now turned to an enveloping lust.

She felt him lifting her, higher, until she was on tip-toes, and then higher still until eventually her feet could not touch the ground at all. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands sliding up the back of his shirt, feeling every inch of the muscle on his broad back. Dean's breath was quick and harsh, matching her own, hot and sweet against her cheek. She could smell the faint pepperminty scent of his breath and the cinnamon of his aftershave. Dean groaned, one hand easing under the material of her bra to rest against her skin and the other hand supporting her at her waist. Jo's fingernails scratched slowly down the length of his back and she felt him shiver.

It hit her very suddenly exactly what they were doing and her heart jerked to her throat. She laughed nervously and turned her head away as Dean leant in again to kiss her.

"Dean-" she choked, closing her eyes and grinning meekly over his shoulder.

"Mmm?" he mumbled, trailing kisses up the length of her neck.

"Sam's going to be back soon…"

Dean paused and they were still, but for the hammering of their hearts and the rhythm of their breathing. The silence lengthened and lengthened until it became almost painful.

Then, finally, Dean huffed and closed his eyes. He pulled his head back but made no other move to drop her.

"You're right. I'd better get on with it, then," he said in a forlorn tone.

"..What?"

Smack. What had once been passionate was now aggressive. In one practised, fluid movement, Dean pinned both her arms above her with his muscular forearm, pressing closer so she was wedged against the wall. His other hand went to her thigh to push her legs from his waist. She let them fall.

"Dean, what're you..?"

She attempted to free her hands from his arm but he would not move. After a moment of terse confusion, fear crawled down the length of her spine.

She stared him in the eyes, puzzled and frightened. His eyes were hard, demanding, hungry.

In a split second she made her decision, and jerked her leg forward to knee him in the groin. He shifted his thigh lithely and her leg skidded on the outside of his, trapping her with his legs on the inside of hers. She gasped in outrage.

"Jo, Jo, Jo," tutted Dean in a berating manner, shaking his head. He was wearing a wandering smile that she didn't recognise.

"Why do you always allow yourself to get into these situations of vulnerability? You should have known one of these days it was going to come back to bite you in the ass."